Reprise
by Rose of Osiris
Summary: A short fic about Faye dealing with Spike's death


**Reprise**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop; if I did, Spike would have pulled a Marvel Hero stunt and come back to life *laments loss*. Nor do I own the song 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn' by Poison._

***

Faye gazed out over the darkened city, barely registering the shadowy landscape with its flickering lights like frantic fireflies; illuminating nothing, and the myriad of car alarms and shouts and other urban noises as once more she played over in her mind every detail of that final conversation. 

_'I'm going to find out if I'm really alive'._

Until then, it had never occurred to Faye that Spike had meant anything to her; she had never had friends and so had failed to recognise him as such. But on hearing those words, she had felt herself overwhelmed; experiencing a deep wrenching sensation within herself which, somewhat to her surprise, had been as much physical as emotional. The cool, impassionate demeanour she had perfected over the years had been banished in an instant and she had shed tears which had been kept contained since the days of her barely remembered childhood.

Vaguely she wondered where Jet had gone; he had stormed out whilst she had been weeping, stoically ignoring his injured leg.

At last she came to a decision within herself, padding out of the main room to wash away the tear stains she could feel, sticky on her cheeks. Surveying herself in the mirror, she grimaced; dark salty tracks of wet mascara ran to her chin from reddened eyes, which burned now a little and were still somewhat blurred. Her purple hair, too, was a mess, the foremost strands congealed with the dire mixture of salt water and cosmetics.

'What a sight', she muttered dryly, having regained her iron composure, 'anyone would think I actually cared about the big oaf'. With that, she proceeded to tidy herself up, acting as calmly as she might under any other circumstances, until finally, looking her glamorous self once more, she strode out into the busy night.

***

'Bang!'

With a resigned smirk, Spike Spiegel raised his hand in imitation of a gun, pronouncing the single word before toppling forward onto the red-carpeted steps, images of a beautiful blonde woman flashing through his mind as he remembered Julia, his only love, dying in his arms.

_'It was all a dream'._

No one moved to help him; all those gathered had been motionless from the moment battle had ensued between this man and their newly declared leader, Vicious, once Spike's best friend. Nothing stirred until a figure appeared in the doorway, causing many of the men to turn, awakened from their pensiveness.

'Spike!' the burly man limped to his friend's side where he knelt, with some difficulty. With a gentleness that belied his heavy build, he placed a hand on the shoulder of the fallen man, bowing his head respectfully, oblivious to the curious eyes of the many onlookers.

'So you went out fighting', he stated quietly. 'You were a good man, Spike; a good friend. The Bebop won't be the same without you…'

'Cut the crap Jet.' The green-haired bounty hunter interjected weakly, reviving a little. 'Play me out, huh?' Then, sinking down again onto the steps, his whole body tensed for an instant, relaxed and was still.

Jet felt moisture rising in his eyes, but wiped it away distractedly as his mind struggled to register Spike's last words.

'Hey, Jet; look lively.' A brash female voice from the entrance made Jet snap to attention. All at once he became aware of the host surrounding him and the metallic clicking of guns being readied. Lurching to his feet, he drew his own weapon, pitching dangerously to the left and right in his attempts to be evasive. He winced as he felt his leg wound reopen, convinced that this would be his last battle.

Faye, meanwhile, had stridden into the room, picking off adversaries left and right with an ease that surprised her; they seem disorganised, as if they were in some sort of daze, though she couldn't conceive why. She glanced about for Spike; surely he must be there somewhere, until at last her gaze settled on the still form just beyond Jet, which she had not noticed on her entry.

'Jet!' she cried desperately, 'Spike; is he…'

'He's dead.' came the blunt reply. Faye's face creased as she tried to comprehend the words, feeling a wave of emotion overtaking her for the second time that day. She ceased her shooting, running to the steps where she dropped heavily to her knees beside the blue-suited man.

'Dead?' she whispered, to no one in particular, 'How? He can't be. He always… he always makes it through.' She choked on the words, her eyes stinging as she touched his cheek; her tears soaking into the yellow collar of his shirt. She did not notice the conflict about her cease.

All lowered their weapons as they watched the distraught young woman, feeling vaguely uneasy, though many could not have said why. Overhearing her questions, some glanced subconsciously towards the spot where Spike's rival had fallen. This, Faye did see, and all eyes were on her as she rose to her feet, proceeding slowly, deliberately to the top of the steps.

She had already suspected what she would see, but she had not known the fury the sight of Vicious would rouse in her. She fought down her anger; he too was dead, that much was clear, and proceeded towards the high window, shaking with suppressed emotion.

In the centre of the broad, stone sill, as she leaned upon it, she became aware of a strangely out of place ornament; in a narrow vase of intricately carved crystal, a single dark red rose. So purely beautiful, she thought as she fingered the silky petals,

'And so wrong', she muttered suddenly, considering all that had transpired that day. Her hand closed around the vase, her knuckles whitening 'Damn you, Vicious', she whispered, then louder, 'Damn you!' she cried, adding the force of the words to her actions as she flung the vase at Vicious, where it shattered over his body, the rose, untouched, settling against his face. Then, having used her last reserves of defiance she gave in to the sheer horror of it all, collapsing, a wretched ball of emotion.

'That'll do, Faye', a gruff, but kindly voice told her, and she felt strong hands on her shoulders. Raising her head to stare blankly at Jet through her tears, Faye let him pull her to her feet, reaching absently for the rose as he did so. And, cradling the flower to her chest, she allowed herself to be led down the steps, the terse nod of one man who appeared to have formed himself as a temporary leader acknowledging their right to leave unhindered.

Those remaining stood awkwardly amongst the bodies of the dead, silent as they watched the melancholy pair depart, having gathered their fallen comrade. A sense of shame descended upon them then; many of them had known this man whom they had hunted for so long, had even been his friends those years before when he had been one of them.

Finally the stillness was broken. With a disgusted snort, one man threw down his gun, turning and striding from the room; another simply sat down despondently, his legs crossed. Gradually, they dispersed, some muttering quietly to each other, most departing singly in shaken silence. The newer members of the syndicate stood about uneasily, unsure of what had just happened, before similarly sloping off in ones and twos, until the opulent room was empty, but for a silver haired corpse beyond and above the remains of his supporters, lying in a spreading pool of his own blood and glittering fragments of shattered crystal.

***

Faye sighed as she gazed down at the city as she had a week before. It was truly all over, a realisation which had come upon her that afternoon as she had paid her respects at Spike's funeral. Strangely, word of his death had spread quickly. Faye suspected Ed's involvement in this, even though the girl had not been present. Among those who were, however, had been Doohan with his assistant, Miles, Victoria Terpsichore, her cat and Muriel, a barmaid. A girl named Stella Bonnaro had also appeared, mentioning that Spike had helped restore her sight; she arrived with Meifa whom she had apparently known for some years. And too came three elderly men who had introduced themselves as Antonio, Carlos and Jobim. They had seemed to know quite a lot about Spike, although Faye did not recall having met them before. The last arrival had been Andy, now using the name Lance, having given up on being a samurai and decided knighthood would suit him.

It had helped, knowing that she and Jet were not the only ones who had cared for their green-haired accomplice, and it dawned on Faye that she had survived a week without Spike; that perhaps life could go on yet. She would not forget him of course, but it was, she decided, time to move on.

The once perfect rose that she held absently in her left hand was beginning to wilt now its petals growing wrinkled and thin, but still beautiful, and with all its colour. Faye lowered her gaze to the flower, extending her arm out over the city before closing her fist tightly, crushing the rose. With childlike interest she watched a rivulet of blood begin to flow from her hand, then, smiling, she released her grip, watching the dark petals float slowly down into the darkness. Then, with a final whisper, she turned back into the ship, truly content at last.

'See you, space cowboy.' And as she made her way to her room she was vaguely aware of someone singing softly somewhere in the ship.

_'Every rose has its thorn,_

_Just like every night has its dawn,_

_Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song,_

_Every rose has its thorn.'_

Jet smiled reflectively as he allowed his voice to trail off.

'Spike always did hate that song.'

***

_Well, it seems I have finished. I feel I rushed this a little; I have had so little time to write anything recently. Still, it is done; my first CB fic. I would appreciate feedback, if possible. And now I can sleep. Thankyou for reading._

_~Rose_


End file.
